Candy Lady Right There

The Neighborhood Candy Lady: A Disappearing Pillar of Community Trust

My godmother, Mrs. Lowe, used to be the candy lady in our neighborhood. She didn’t just have a little bowl of candy sitting around—she legitimately had twenty of those clear candy bins lined up against her living room wall, filled with hard candies, fruit chews, bubble gum, and lollipops. All the kids in the neighborhood could come to her house and buy candy for pennies on the dollar. If you made her laugh or told her something you learned at church, she’d give it to you for free.

But it really wasn’t about the money. Mrs. Lowe wanted to give people a safe place to come and feel like a kid again. You could talk to any adult who grew up in that neighborhood and they’d know her name. Need something fixed or having trouble with something? She could point you toward someone who’d help you out. She was a connector, and the kind of person who held the community together in ways most people never think about.

As I was reflecting on how Mrs. Lowe functioned as this community hub, I got curious: did others have the same experience? A quick search brought up a Reddit post from last year titled “Did anyone else grow up having a Candy Lady?” where people shared fond memories of women who brought joy to their childhoods. The blog pushblack.us has a piece called “How Candy Ladies Care For Black Communities” that focuses on these female entrepreneurs who used what they had at their disposal to become pillars of their neighborhoods.

Digging deeper into the search results, it seems the candy lady phenomenon might be unique to minority communities. This could be for several reasons. Maybe because they sold candy at such steep discounts, while children in more privileged areas could easily get their candy fix from supermarkets or mall stores. (Side note: We visited San Francisco recently and stopped at this massive candy store near Fisherman’s Wharf. Give me candy lady prices any day over those tourist trap prices!)

But here’s what really strikes me: the candy lady represents something we seem to be losing in neighborhoods across the country.

First, she provided what researchers call a “third place” for children to feel safe away from home (first place) and school (second place). The University of Chicago’s English Language Institute published an article about third places and why they’re crucial to American culture. These are spaces where friends can gather naturally, and they’re essential for developing deeper social bonds. The candy lady’s house was exactly that—a place where kids could hang out, chat with a trusted adult, and connect with other children from the neighborhood.

Second, she represented community trust in its purest form. What I always tell my neighbors is that it isn’t walls, fences, or gates that make a good neighborhood, but how we take care of each other. Yet there seems to be declining trust among people who should have the highest levels of trust: those who literally live right next to us. Research published in “In neighbors we trust: A global perspective on how neighborhood trust shapes wellbeing” shows a positive correlation between neighborhood trust and social wellbeing.

I get it, though. Allowing our children to buy candy from someone we don’t know well seems dangerous. Social media posts and viral stories about drugs disguised as sweet treats have parents on high alert. But what if we took a different approach? What if we actually introduced ourselves to the candy lady, got to know her and her values, understood why she’s doing what she does? Wouldn’t that help us build stronger connections within our own neighborhoods?

We want our kids to be safe. We want them off social media and out living in the real world. We want to provide neighborhoods and communities where they can gradually grow and explore on their own terms.

To me, the candy lady represents all of this. She’s proof that sometimes the most important community builders aren’t the people with official titles or positions, but the ones who simply open their doors, share what they have, and create spaces where trust can grow one conversation, one piece of candy, one small kindness at a time.

Maybe it’s time we started looking for ways to bring that spirit back to our own neighborhoods like Mrs. Lowe did with hers. I and many more will always be grateful for her presence.